


Queens' Sortie

by brutti_ma_buoni



Category: Borgen (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/pseuds/brutti_ma_buoni
Summary: Something is festering in the state of Denmark. Katrine wants to do more than report it... and she meets Hanne at just the right moment.
Relationships: Katrine Fonsmark/Hanne Holm, Katrine Fønsmark & Hanne Holm
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Queens' Sortie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



The Marriage Decree passed by three votes. Katrine finished the broadcast, almost disbelieving her own words. It had come so fast. And sure, the coalition government wouldn’t last. The socialists or the greens would be in the next government, and they would reverse this. The moderates would recover from Nyborg’s retirement and come back fighting. But meanwhile, Denmark would tax unmarried women, as a social good. 

_It’s meaningless. It won’t last. It’s against everything that Denmark has become._

And the Freedom Party got it through anyway.

On the panel that followed, there were jokes. Uneasy jokes, but nonetheless, people trying to rationalise what had occurred. People meaning men, though. The panel had only one other woman, Ilhan, who mainly covered Jylland stories, and Katrine didn’t know well. They were positioned at the far ends of the U of panellist seats. Too far for comradeship. Ilhan kind of looked sick to Katrine. Or that might have been projection.

She tuned back in to the half-jokes, which continued. “A basic failure of arithmetic,” pointed out the young guy from Ekspres, Katrine’s former self, with all her old ambition. “If it’s women that have to be married, who are they going to be married to? There’s no incentive for males here.”

“It’s not about controlling men,” Katrine said. Too loudly, in the bonhomie.

“Come on,” said Laugesen. Who would stand against every part of this if he were still in politics, but couldn’t resist stirring the shit. “First they came for the unmarried women? It’s a triviality, 1000 kroner per year. A sop to the Freedom Party to get the budget through-“

“Women’s freedom not to marry is not a political pawn-“ started Katrine, as Ilhan said, “It’s not trivial if you don’t have-“

And Torben Friis said, “Thank you all for a very stimulating debate. That’s all we have time for tonight.”

Too late.

*

Katrine was almost out of the broadcast centre when the clapping started. Loud, slightly off-beat clapping. Sarcasm, perhaps. Or something worse. There had been an incident in Odense where that guy- 

This wasn’t a guy. This was a face from the past. Hanne Holm, palms beating the hell out of each other, scarlet scarf streaming with symbolic rage. Walking straight at Katrine. “Well, you tried.”

Is that the worst thing you could say to a news broadcaster? Close, and Hanne knew that. But although her body was rigid with obvious anger, it wasn’t directed at Katrine. “Those fuckers. They don’t think it matters.”

“I couldn’t make them listen,” said Katrine, hopelessly. Hanne – unemotional Hanne! – patted her shoulder. 

“But you showed you hated it. That will matter. When the women of this country rise up, that will matter.” 

“I hope they do,” Katrine responded. She hated the note of doubt in her voice. But today had been unbelievable. 

“Look,” said Hanne. “You’re tired. Go home. I just wanted to say I heard you. And so did others.”

Katrine sighed. “Yeah. Thanks.” But it helped. 

They could have parted then. Almost did. But Katrine said on impulse, “Coffee tomorrow? Or a drink? I’ve hardly seen you since you went to Newsday.”

*

Hanne chose coffee. Which was reassuring; maybe not still on the wagon, but under control. She had a line of scandal about Newsday’s Swedish owners which Katrine was only half-prepared to believe.

The view over the harbour was bleak, but the bar was cosy. Hanne’s scarf today was ultramarine, glorious, and Katrine found herself laughing more than she had in a while. Ninety minutes flew, like neither of them had busy careers and deadlines. Like this was something she’d missed.

“We should do this more,” she said, and meant it.

Hanne was signalling for the bill, but she turned back, maybe hearing something truthful in Katrine’s voice. “Yes.” She hesitated, then asked the waitress for refills instead. “So, I had something crazy to ask.” 

“Oh yeah?” Katrine had reached her coffee limit for now, so she ignored the fresh cup, focused on Hanne. 

“Yeah. I was wondering about it already, but now, with this stupid little law, I definitely want to make a point.” Hanne’s jaw firmed, stark against her cashmere blue. “We’ve come so far, but there are still all these little tiny unstoppable bloody inconveniences. And now they invent some new ones. Do you want to help me stir shit up?”

“Sure,” Katrine said. Too quick. Definitely unwise. Hanne’s stirring could get messy. But the world was turning, and she needed to do something. Something more than just reporting it, as things worsened. Sometimes that thought scared her, attacking her sense of vocation. But not tonight. Something with Hanne. 

“I have a pension,” said Hanne. As if that followed. “I have a pension from our dear state broadcaster. It won’t be enough to live on alone, but it’s nice. A good retirement.”

“You’re retiring?” Katrine was shocked.

“Jesus, no.” At least Hanne squashed that thought fast. “I’ll die in a briefing room, unless they drag me out before then.” 

“So why the pension talk?”

Hanne clanked her coffee cup down on the table. The loud thunk made Katrine flinch; unexpected, like Hanne’s past, before she cleaned up. But this time, it was because Hanne was angry. “They made me go to a retirement planning seminar. Which was tedious. And finally I looked at my pension from DR1. The small print.”

“And it’s… good?” Katrine struggled to see the point.

“Sure. And it’s sexist. Because I’m unmarried. A portion of the pension won’t be paid, because I don’t have dependents.”

“Well… I guess that happened?” Katrine hadn’t studied pension arrangements from what must be at least the late 1980s, if not earlier. 

Hanne said, in very clear and precise contrast to her clunky gesture. “It didn’t happen to men. There’s no bachelor clawback like this for women. The actuaries set women’s pension rates assuming that they would be married. And as I am not, I lose out.”

“Shit.” Katrine was not in the mood for this. Not this week. “We think there’s been progress, and they get us every way around. Past and future.”

“Uhuh.” Hanne had maybe purged a little fury, but her risky mood hadn’t vanished. “Almost enough to make you do something crazy, right?”

Katrine looked down at the cup in her hand, wondering why she had lifted it, when she wanted nothing more. The dark liquid told her nothing of where Hanne might be headed. “Almost.”

“Come on,” said Hanne, and she grinned, a daredevil joy moment that Katrine caught for a breath. “Let’s get married, and fuck them all.”

*

Getting married to make a political point was something Katrine and Hanne were almost uniquely suited to arranging. The coverage, from announcement to downbeat, dressed-down formalities of the ceremony, and the press conference which followed, was national level. Birgitte Nyborg rang in from Melbourne to give a positive quote on the nightly news. They were heard.

“We are marrying because Denmark believes women should be married. Because this country decided that women should be financially penalised for not marrying, we have decided to marry each other.” Katrine was pretty pleased with her soundbite. A lifetime in broadcast had prepared her well. 

“Aren’t you making a mockery of the institution of marriage?” That was the Fox-esque dude from Channel 3, predictably. 

“The Danish state made a mockery of marriage,” slid in Hanne, “When it decided that financial incentives should govern human relationships. We went into this seriously. We are not planning to divorce. This is our situation now. We support one another, and we enjoy the rewards of that. Financial and otherwise.” 

Their wedding photographs, Katrine in a pantsuit and Hanne in a violet pashmina over her sweater, were on every front page. There were editorials. The government debated, and almost collapsed. Not quite, because after all, it was just a couple of famous women making a point about inequality. Not quite enough for Hesselboe to prioritise it over the budget. 

Hanne and Katrine went home.

*

Hanne’s apartment was really nice. Katrine had moved in there delightedly. She had a great room, there was space in the kitchen so her elbows didn’t knock anything when she made coffee. They’d be fine. This was commitment for a reason, but it was good commitment.

And now she was buzzing, after that press conference. “Hey wife!”

“Hey wife,” Hanne responded, matching her for width of smile. “We showed them.”

“Yeah, we did.” Katrine hugged her, kept one hand out, stroking soft wool. “Did I say this scarf is gorgeous?”

“Twice,” Hanne laughed back at her. “I guess we get to be a little dizzy after all that.”

“I had the best day,” Katrine said, and she meant it. Like a wedding day should be, except every cliché overturned. “We showed them. And we’re going to be great. Media power couple, press coverage if we want it, we get to speak out for women who don’t have this platform.” She paused. “And… you know, I’d never have done this with someone else.”

Hanne grinned, broad with joy. “Of course not. It was my brilliant idea!”

“You know what I mean.” Katrine thought back to the coffee cup in her hand. The madness of Hanne’s offer, and the gut-deep knowledge that this would work. For more than the span of a headline. For reasons neither of them had needed to articulate. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else this way. They wouldn’t get me, or my work. Or that this isn’t a joke, even though it’s a stunt.”

Hanne had been smiling in some form ever since they signed the marriage registration. Now she sobered. “Thank you. And I’d never have had the idea if it hadn’t been you.”

They were very, very close together. They were married. They were home. 

“You know,” said Katrine, very gently. “The marriage is a political statement. But… our relationship doesn’t have to be.”

The smile started to warm back up in Hanne’s eyes. “You mean, if we decide that this marriage had conventional potential, it wouldn’t be a betrayal of our principles?”

A tiny, tiny bit of tension uncoiled inside Katrine, a tension based in what she wanted being perhaps incompatible with what she had. “That… would be a valid analysis.”

“I think we definitely have conventional potential,” said Hanne. “But I have a story to file tonight. Hold that thought, wife?”

Of course she had to work. Of course Katrine would, too. Of course they would understand when that happened. “For sure,” she said, and grinned. “Want to tell me about it, wife?”

“It’s an exclusive,” Hanne responded. “So I’ll tell you after I file. Okay?”

“Totally,” said Katrine. Her fingers were still in Hanne’s scarf, so she tugged very slightly, to bring their faces closer still. “One kiss, though. Then back to work.”

***


End file.
